


Palaces out of paragraphs

by SiwgrGalon



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Clary Fray (mentioned) - Freeform, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Letters, M/M, Postcards, Romance, Wedding, making memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: Voicing his feelings and desires may not be easy for Alec, but there are other ways to harness your words and give your immortal partner something to remember you by.///‘So I take it you got some mail?’Still beating around the bush, then. Or maybe even consciously playing coy.‘I didn’t just get any old mail.’Magnus lowers his voice to a whisper, leaning close enough so his lips tickle over Alec’s when he next speaks.‘I believe I got a love letter.’
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114
Collections: Very Best Malec





	Palaces out of paragraphs

**Author's Note:**

> A second stint into Shadowhunters, yay! 
> 
> And yes, the title is a Hamilton reference (or rather, a straight lift from Burn) – but it's far less depressing, I promise.

Like so many things involving Alexander, it starts quietly and out of the blue.

Weeks after Magnus had whisked them away to Tokyo, a postcard tumbles out of his letterbox. He doesn’t think anything of it at first – he does have friends around the world and it’s generally known he enjoys certain mundane things, good old snail mail being one of them.

The surprise comes when he turns it around. Multiple surprises, actually.

Because Magnus would know that careful script anywhere. They might not have been _a thing_ for long by any sort of standard, but they’ve spent enough time together for the warlock to know Alec’s handwriting.

Much like the man himself it’s neat, considered, without many frills. The sight alone sends a thrill through Magnus’ body. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t also so infatuated, really.

Very much unlike his earnest Shadowhunter, though, is the little illustration in the bottom left corner. Depicting a clearly unhappy fish – without doubt a tuna, if Magnus thinks back to that particular trip and the laughs they got out of it – with a piece of nigiri declaring ‘sorry I called you fat’, it is an unexpected but not unwelcome break of character from Alexander.

‘I don’t think the sushi chef appreciated you choking on your sake over my stupid comment, but I want you to know I appreciate you,’ the message reads.

Short, yes, but sweet in its honesty and lack of flourish.

Magnus has long known that he’s falling hard – and at breakneck speed, too – but this moment drives home just how deep he is already in. There’s no way he’ll make it out unscathed now.

Forcing himself to stop dwelling on what pain the future has in store for him, he turns the postcard around, the image of the Imperial Palace triggering a fond smile, and promptly marches to pin it up in his little library. 

When Alexander comes over that night, he doesn’t even get a greeting out. Instead, he finds himself being crowded against the wall and kissed halfway into oblivion by his warlock boyfriend, ringed hands framing handsome cheekbones as his own fingers snugly land on the other man’s hips. 

‘Hello to you too,’ the Shadowhunter says. Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair, squinting at Magnus from below his elbow. 

‘What did I do to warrant such an enthusiastic welcome?’ 

‘Oh Alexander,’ Magnus purrs in reply, hooking his fingers into the other man’s belt loops and drawing him close enough so their noses touch. 

‘You, my dear, can be such a jokester if you wish to be. Although, quite frankly, it’s rude that you’ve hidden your talent for doodling from me for this long.’ 

The Shadowhunter’s face lights up in a boyish smile so wide and delighted it makes Magnus’ toes curl in reply, before it fades into an almost shy blush. 

Given Alec’s height and general physical appearance, Magnus thinks ‘adorable’ probably shouldn’t be the first word that comes to mind – ‘devilishly handsome’ or ‘absolutely, unquestionably deadly if crossed the wrong way’ are very appropriate alternatives. 

And yet the only way the Shadowhunter could be any more adorable in this very moment would be him shuffling and scuffing his boots, because the warlock is under no impression that his boyfriend (and doesn’t that thought make him giddy with joy) is very, very nervous. 

‘So I take it you got some mail?’ 

Still beating around the bush, then. Or maybe even consciously playing coy. 

‘I didn’t just get any old mail.’ 

Magnus lowers his voice to a whisper, leaning close enough so his lips tickle over Alec’s when he next speaks. 

‘I believe I got a love letter.’ 

With that he closes the hair’s breadth between them, kissing Alec with a fierce intensity that surprises them both. 

Never has he been so thankful for Jace – still his more or less willing roommate, although that particular chapter of their lives seems to be drawing to a close – keeping an erratic schedule. 

Magnus has half a mind to fully raise his wards and lock out the blond. They might have found an alright arrangement, and they definitely bonded over their shared love for the man in his arms, but that’s where Magnus draws the line. 

He’s willing to share a lot with his boyfriend’s parabatai, but not this. Not _them_ , not the sight of Alexander letting go of his carefully crafted facade in the eye of passion, especially not when everything is still so fresh. 

They’re as stumbly and giddy as the very first time, heated kisses interrupted by breathless laughter as joy overflows and turns into something more raw and needy.  
The couple tumble onto the bed in a mass of limbs, and then there are hands everywhere, accompanied by soft sighs and low groans and the frantic beating of Magnus’ heart soaring in ecstasy.

Clarity comes back when the warlock sits up, straddling his partner’s hips to catch his breath for a second and – maybe selfishly, if Alec’s whine is anything to go by – enjoy the view. The body below him is all lean muscle, complemented by the swirling black of runes. 

What a sight Alexander makes, Magnus thinks, angles and planes speaking of raw power and a hint of danger while his eyes are trusting and open, tinted with desire, betraying his comparative innocence in this particular field. 

Everything is so fresh now, they’re still learning each other, but there’s no way he’ll ever grow tired of this, of Alexander under him, desire and wonder written all over his face and his body.

It’s intoxicating. 

And then clever fingers, formerly preoccupied with stroking the warlock’s thighs and up his hips, tangle in his necklaces, breaking him out of his reverie. 

‘Leave them on?’ 

How could he deny Alexander anything when he’s spread out below him like this, willing and watching and waiting and so clearly wanting? (Truth be told, Magnus has a hard time denying him anything even when clothed, too.) 

‘Of course, darling.’ 

For a man not very convinced by pet names, the Nephilim’s face lights up almost instantly and honestly, if this is the response he gets, Magnus is willing to never let it stray beyond their bed. 

As if sensing his partner’s mind wandering again, Alexander tugs at the jewelry laced between his fingers, gently, and again a bit more insistently when Magnus doesn’t immediately react. 

‘Less staring,’ Alec starts, his already husky voice dropping even lower. 

‘More kissing.’ 

‘Oh, I’ve created a monster,’ Magnus replies, without any malice but with plenty of dramatics, and bends down to meet his love’s wish. 

‘Nah,’ comes the whisper against his lips, Alexander wrapping Magnus’ necklaces loosely around his hand once. 

‘You freed me, really.’ 

And Magnus can’t stop himself any longer, descending on his partner to devour him fully and thoroughly until they don’t know where one ends and the other begins. 

xXxXxXxXx

It doesn’t stop there. 

Every time Magnus takes his boyfriend on a trip, no matter how far away from home, a postcard – very reliably – lands on his doorstep. 

Sometimes it’s a few days later (that one’s upstate New York), while others take a little longer to finish their journey and find their intended recipient. Some feature witty one-liners, while others delve deeper into Alec’s feelings, honesty and love almost radiating off the pages. 

Magnus pins every single one up in the library with the first one. Once he runs out of space, he already has cleared a little slot of wall in the apothecary – it seems like the only logical place. 

He’s in there half the day anyways, so would have Alexander close in a way even if he’s at his own job, but it’s still private enough to shield them from prying eyes. 

Of course, there are surprises still. Like the one from, of all places, the Statue of Liberty, which simply has a heart drawn in the top left corner on the back, with the line ‘thank you for choosing Brooklyn’ running along the bottom. 

Or the one from Beijing. The Forbidden City is a burst of colour, reminding Magnus of the glorious early autumn weekend he and Alexander spent exploring Beijing and how beautiful his partner had looked in the ever-lower sun. 

That’s a good memory. But when he makes to look at the message, Magnus is momentarily caught out by the neat hanzi. 

Of course, he’d heard Alec speak Mandarin on the trip (and hadn’t that lead to fun later), which had been a nice revelation in itself, but the warlock didn’t expect the young man to carry it through to the memento. 

It’s funny, he thinks as the turns the piece of card over in his hands, how even a love letter in a language you can’t read can tell you so much, simply by the care that’s gone into each line. 

Ironically, it’s also one of the longest notes he’s ever received from Alexander. 

For now, Magnus tucks it away, debating whether to translate it using the wonder that is Google or to ask his man.

Knowing Alexander, there’s probably some thought behind it, so he settles on the latter. But Magnus also knows the Shadowhunter rather well by now, to put midly, so he bids his time a bit longer. 

Reliable as ever, a few days later the postcard is joined by its cousin from Hong Kong, this one in meticulous Cantonese. 

After dinner that night, Magnus seizes his chance. 

They’re curled up on the sofa, Alec reading a book while Magnus is engrossed in the news, his hands gently kneading and loosening the tight muscles in his partner’s calves. 

‘Thank you for writing to me from China,’ the warlock starts, noticing the pleased little smile on the other man’s face. It’s a good look; one that really suits him. 

‘Always,’ Alec replies, his voice warm and distinctly happy. 

‘There’s only one problem.’ 

With a little flourish, Magnus conjures up the postcards just as Alec lowers his book, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

‘You greatly overestimate my knowledge of both Mandarin and Cantonese. I can tell them apart when I hear them, but that’s it – I don’t even know whether these are actually written in different languages.’ 

‘They are,’ Alec murmurs, reaching out in enquiry to take the cards off Magnus. 

‘This one,’ he taps the image of Victoria Harbour before turning it around, presumably to read out the message. 

An inelegant snort leaves his lips; it really shouldn’t be this endearing, probably, but Magnus’ responding grin in almost instinctive by now. 

‘Oh, I forgot about this.’ Alexander’s voice is full of glee, in that quiet, introverted way of his as a cheeky grin threatens to split his face in half. 

‘Remember that restaurant we went to for dinner? This is their xiao long bao recipe.’

Magnus just looks, slightly dumbfounded, blinking slowly as he processes the information. 

‘That’s _what_?’ Confusion and the urge to burst into uncontrollable laughter make the warlock’s pitch rise much higher than usual as he scrambles to sit up.

‘Well, you said they were the best you ever had,’ the young man replies, seemingly oblivious to the stir of emotions he’s caused with a single sentence. 

‘So I got you the recipe. Had I known that your line about speaking Cantonese was just that, I would’ve written it in English, but then again I guess I’m protecting the chef’s secret in this neck of the woods.’ 

‘But… how did you get this?’ 

Belatedly, he clocks the little dig at his language skills, but the warlock doesn’t have it in him to protest beyond an indignant grumble. 

‘I wouldn’t starve,’ he argues, without any malice. 

‘Arguably, that’s “I can order food in Cantonese”, not “I speak Cantonese”,’ Alec teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he sits up a little more. 

‘Did you maybe embellish their skills a little to impress me?’ 

Magnus huffs and playfully rolls his eyes, swatting in Alec’s general direction.

‘Oh, come on. You’re a white Shadowhunter who grew up in America – the chances of you speaking a foreign language to absolute fluency were slim, let alone speaking two or more.’ 

His snarky reply has the desired effect, triggering a genuine belly laugh as Alexander flops back against the couch, one hand resting on his stomach. 

‘Touche,’ he wheezes, a deep breath filling his lungs to stop his laughter. 

‘But of course,’ Magnus continues, slowly scooting a little closer. 

‘Of course I had to fall in love with a secret nerd.’ 

The Nephilim just shrugs, without breaking his lounging position, and waves the second postcard carefully. 

‘Well, unless you actually stoop low enough to use Google, that nerd is also the only source of translation for this, so if I were you…’ 

He has the audacity to flutter his lashes and stretch, his shirt riding up to reveal just a sliver of skin. Magnus swallows, his eyes straying south before wandering up his boyfriend’s body to land on a soft grin. 

‘Alright,’ the warlock says, adding an exaggerated sigh for dramatic impact. 

‘Would you do the honours?’ 

‘I’d love to,’ Alec replies, his voice all prim and proper as he extends a hand to Magnus. 

The older man happily takes it, lacing their fingers together as he stretches out along the length of Alexander’s body, the warlock’s back resting against his partner’s front. 

‘Bring it, then, Shadowhunter.’ 

A chuckle rocks Alec’s body and with it Magnus, but then his partner’s hand extends so they both can read – or, well, look at – the hanzi on the paper in front of them. 

Wonder strikes as the young Nephilim reads out the words effortlessly, without hesitating or catching or stumbling, his voice a soothing, rich flow that washes over the loft like a gently rolling tide. 

He’s clearly reading out a poem, the breaks and causes give away that much. 

‘I didn’t get a single word of that, I hope you know that,’ Magnus murmurs, turning his head to press a soft kiss against a readily available cheek. 

‘I want to be your love for ever and ever,’ Alec starts, whispering almost reverentially. Magnus feels his heart thud, as if torn between waiting for the other shoe to drop and wanting to skyrocket with excitement. 

‘Without break or decay.  
When the hills are all flat,  
The rivers are all dry.  
When it thunders in winter,  
When it snows in summer  
When heaven and earth mingle,  
Not till then will I part from you.’

The warlock feels hot and cold at the same time, shivers chasing up and down his spine as he lies there, nestled against Alexander, feeling his boyfriend’s warmth through their layers of clothes, and lets it sink in. 

Behind him, the Shadowhunter is a solid presence, a tiny hitch in his breath as he finishes the recital the only tell that he’s not half as cool and collected as he’s trying to let Magnus believe. 

They just lie there, in their own bubble, for a second. But soon Alexander grows restless, shifting and squirming a tiny bit as if he’s trying to hold back something. 

‘I’m sorry if that was too much,’ he mumbles. There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, one that hints at the young Shadowhunter raising up his walls to shield his heart.

‘Sorry if I’m... too much.’ 

‘No. Don’t you dare apologize,’ Magnus chokes out, turning around. He didn’t expect how raspy he’d sound, how much his emotional turmoil would carry outwards. 

Below him Alexander looks insecure, avoiding the warlock’s eyes and chewing on his lip. He’s gone red, too, an all-too-lovely blush covering his ears and dusting his cheekbones. 

He shouldn’t look like this, Magnus thinks, not with this aura around him. He shouldn’t be ashamed of feeling anything, least of all love, but here Alec is, with the shame and guilt and repression around his sexuality bred so deeply into him over generations that he sometimes still can’t help himself.

If it wouldn’t hurt the man in his arms, Magnus would be quite ready to burn Idris to the ground and the whole stuck up, conservative society of Shadowhunters with it. All to free a single Nephilim from his heteronormative shackles.

Instead, he chooses a tactic of reassurance, support, and letting his own emotion flow freely. 

‘This… it’s incredible,’ he murmurs, cupping Alexander’s face with his hands and running his thumbs over his partner’s cheekbones. 

‘Thank you for sharing it with me. You’re not too much; anyone who says that simply isn’t enough. Besides – too much is my middle name, remember?’ 

A startled laugh escapes Alec, but Magnus doesn’t miss that it sounds a little wet, or that the other man’s eyes look a little glassy. 

‘Ugh,’ the Shadowhunter groans, roughly wiping his wrist over his face. 

‘I don’t even know why I feel like crying now.’

Magnus shifts his thumbs a bit higher, stroking over the delicate skin underneath Alexander’s eyes to catch any stray tears that might fall after all. 

It sure can’t be healthy to hold it all in like this, like his beloved has always done, but at the same time Magnus gets it. Being a leader and being visibly vulnerable is hard at the best of times, but ten times more so if you’re at the head of, essentially, an angelic army so prim and proper the mere thought of admitting a weakness sends some of them fainting. 

_Especially_ if you’re also not straight. 

The fact that Alexander is wording these feelings shows how far they have come over the course of the past 18 months – and they’re not even married. Yet. Yet? 

Magnus doesn’t know where that thought comes from, but it’s… not horrible. It doesn’t feel oppressive. 

If anything, the opposite is true. For the first time in his centuries-long life, the warlock finds himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, tying yourself to a single person for all eternity could be nice. 

Scratch that, it could be amazing. 

Of course they’ve talked about this, much like they’ve talked extensively about mortality, immortality, and what that might mean for them. 

None of them is okay with losing the other, they’ve been clear on that. But once he had gotten over his initial apprehension, Alexander had always seemed more… alright with the thought of dying. 

His main concern was Magnus and what that loss would do to him. 

Hearing him voice this quite unmistakable wish, a desire to stay forever, the readiness to sacrifice everything that makes Alexander himself… Magnus can’t imagine the courage it must have taken. 

All of a sudden, the penny drops. Writing it in Mandarin was not teasing, at least not exclusively; it was Alexander testing the waters, writing down and coding what he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet. 

‘You feel like crying because being vulnerable is hard,’ Magnus whispers. 

‘Because knowing you, you’ll have agonised and fretted over this as soon as you popped it into the postbox, and saying things is very different to writing something down. I know you Alexander – you probably had an inkling that I wouldn’t be able to read it, so it was safer and put the power in your hand.’ 

Below him, Alec blushes a little, trying to divert his eyes by turning his head away. 

‘Hey,’ Magnus continues, using two fingers to gently nudge his boyfriend’s head back so they’re looking at each other again. 

‘There’s nothing shameful about being emotional, or about needing time to make a frankly huge admission. You’ve voluntarily put yourself in a spot where you could have gotten deeply hurt – that’s brave.

‘You’re so incredibly brave. I just wish the world would give you a moment of rest ever so often, to catch your breath and just let all the vulnerability out. If there’s anyone who deserves relief, it’s you.’

With that he leans down for a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and Magnus pours everything he has into it. 

A pleased little sound escapes his throat when Alec arches up against him, as if trying to melt them together. Almost on instinct Magnus runs one of his hands down one of Alec’s arms, briefly tangling their fingers together before letting his hand slip under his partner’s shirt, chasing warm skin. 

Much to his surprise, a hand loosely wraps around his wrist, stopping the warlock in his tracks. 

‘No,’ Alexander gasps, his voice croaky. 

‘Please, can you just… can we not?’ 

Without any delay Magnus draws his hand back and sits up slightly, creating enough distance between them to fully take in the man below him. 

‘Apologies, Alexander,’ he says, reaching down to link their hands. 

‘Are you alright?’ 

‘Yeah,’ the Shadowhunter says, his voice absentminded. Within a second he focuses back on Magnus, who’s still hovering above him and keeping his face carefully neutral. 

‘Yeah, I’m… not fine, you know, but okay, and it’s just… it’s… I don’t think sex is a good idea to resolve this, deal with my fucking insecurities and all that.’ 

Alec swears so rarely it makes Magnus start and then, try as he might to hold it in, fall into giggles. 

‘Interesting choice of words there,’ he teases ever so gently, stroking his thumb over the back of Alexander’s hand and delighting at the little smile his comment provokes. 

‘And of course, darling, we don’t have to do anything. No explanation needed – I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: consent is incredibly sexy, and you can change your mind whenever you want, for whichever reason, and I’ll never judge.’ 

But as he makes to get off the Shadowhunter a hand catches around his waist, insistently keeping the warlock where he is. 

He raises an eyebrow in confusion and interest, looking at Alexander who lies there so openly and trusting and replies in kind. 

‘That wasn’t me saying no to all forms of physical affection… we can still kiss and, you know, snuggle,’ the Shadowhunter murmurs, voice even lower, even huskier still. 

‘Unless you don’t want to…?’ 

Magnus is on him in a flash, sealing his lips over the other man’s, and gently, deeply makes sure Alexander knows exactly where they stand. 

It’s quiet and soft and so unhurried their lips eventually numb, while any sense of time slips away into nothingness. It’s good, Magnus’ mind provides, being like this, without expectations of performance, no need to go beyond simply enjoy being together and showing affection in one of the purest ways possible. 

The fact that Alexander is delicious in every sense of the word doesn’t hurt, either, but Magnus decides to not focus on details tonight in favour of taking in the whole picture – the warmth and safety and the feeling of home triggered by holding this one man, this stupid, insecure, wonderful Nephilim, close and making sure he knows he’ll forever be loved, no matter which flaws and inadequacies he sees in himself. 

With their heartbeats falling into sync and their breath following suit their kisses slow down eventually before stopping altogether. Instead, Alec wraps his arms around Magnus, hiding his face in the juncture between the warlock’s neck and shoulder, and breathes. 

He breathes his partner in, the sandalwood and burnt-sugar smell of magic, and whatever it is that’s so uniquely Magnus, and relaxes further, actively trying to let go of the insecurity around his mortality and the freshly voiced yearning to just stay. 

The older man readily hugs him back, burying his hands underneath Alexander’s strong back. 

At some point, Magnus notices, Alexander must have fallen asleep. He looks peaceful like this, without his trademark frown or any lines of worry painted on his face; Magnus can’t stop himself from running a finger over a smooth forehead, smiling to himself. 

His couch really isn’t made for sleeping on, especially not for his giraffe of a boyfriend. Luckily, transferring him doesn’t take much work: a flick of the wrist, for some magical lift, and the warlock carries his Shadowhunter through to the bedroom to tuck him in. 

Magnus has half a mind to lie down, too, but as he changes another thought hits him. 

With a decisive flourish he grabs his silk robe, wrapping it around himself like a luxurious hug, and sits down against the headboard, legs drawn up. A snap of his fingers produces writing paper and his favourite fountain pen – which he may or may not have nicked from the Inquisitor’s office a few decades ago – and, with a last look at the man peacefully sleeping beside him, begins to write. 

‘Dear Alexander,’ he starts, words flowing without hesitation. 

‘I am so proud of you. I thought love was over for me, but I found what I didn’t even know I was looking for when I met you. That first contact plays over and over again in my mind after hard days or moments like today when you allow me to see you so open and vulnerable, and I cherish you. 

‘Despite our world, despite everything, you’ve come so far but never lost that boyish charm and your humbleness…’ 

Before he knows it, Magnus fills page after page and still feels like he needs to go on. 

\-------

‘Alright, let’s go,’ Alec whispers, shushing Magnus when his shoes accidentally make too much of a sound on the Institute’s cold stone floor. 

Sneaking out of your own wedding party, as it turns out, is ridiculous fun. So much so the warlock has to cover his mouth with his free hand – the other safely tangled with Alexander’s fingers because, oh god, they’re _married_ and isn’t this the best day ever? - to keep himself from bursting into laughter. 

The fact that they’re both a little tipsy, not to mention positively high on the giddiness of what just happened, doesn’t help either. 

Which is how they ended up here, quietly flitting through the long, dark corridors, trying to evade any well wishers or, worse yet, people keen to drag them back. 

Magnus is sure their absence hasn’t gone unnoticed, but Izzy is on the job of making their escape run smoothly and he trusts her. She’s good. 

‘What are we doing anyways?’ Magnus’ voice echoes more than expected, 

‘I just need to get something,’ Alec whispers. With that they slip through a door and, as the Shadowhunter soundlessly closes it behind them, find themselves encased in much welcomed silence. 

Although he’s not officially lived in the loft yet, few of Alexander’s personal belongings are left in his former room. Still, as Magnus looks around he sees his boyfriend – no, fuck, his _husband_ – in every corner and crevice. Hell, the room smells like him, too, and it makes this the single most comforting, safe-feeling space in the entire institute. 

He half expects Alec to pick up a book or two, so Magnus is surprised when he kneels by his bed and starts manipulating a floorboard. Curiously looking on, he perches on the mattress – which, he can’t help but remember, is much harder than his own, and doesn’t it say a lot that Alexander has never complained – and simply waits. 

With a pleased sound of triumph, the Nephilim lifts the board to produce a small black box before putting everything else back in place. 

‘Hiding something under a loose plank of wood,’ Magnus drawls, teasingly. 

‘How innovative.’ 

‘With siblings like mine, who don’t think I have any secrets, it’s a shockingly effective solution,’ Alec replies, heaving himself next to Magnus before letting himself fall back and lie down, cradling the box to himself. 

‘They’d never guess, honestly. It’d almost be embarrassing, if they weren’t so good at their actual job.’ 

Stretching his arms out in front of himself, the Shadowhunter turns the box over and over, observing it before turning his head to look at Magnus. 

‘Anything more you want to take right now?’ 

‘Nah,’ Alec murmurs, reaching out one hand to rest it on Magnus’ thigh. 

‘I’ve got everything I need right here.’ 

‘What’s in it, then? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.’ 

‘Take a look.’ 

Readily handing over the box, Alec leans up on his elbows to watch his husband who, in turn, inspects the box from all sides. 

‘It is very pretty, but then again I’m the one who got it for you,’ the warlock muses, running his fingers along the lacquered wood to take in the delicate pattern of cranes and koi. He’d bought it in Kyoto, taken with the symbolism behind motifs, and given it to Alexander upon his promotion to Head of the Institute, both as a good luck charm but also a reminder to cherish his life outside of work. 

The warlock doesn’t know what to expect inside, but upon lifting the lid his breath catches. 

There, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, lies a pile of letters, tied together with a silver ribbon. He has half a mind to place the lid on the bed before reaching inside the box and taking the precious bundle out, running his fingers over the paper before lifting it. 

He knows what they are, what they contain, the declarations of his love and loyalty and, sometimes, the paragraphs opening up about his past or laying bare moments of hurt and deep insecurity.

Still, seeing the envelope packed up so carefully and tenderly makes him choke up a little. 

‘Is that…?’ 

‘All of them, yes,’ Alec whispers, quiet joy radiating off him in waves. 

‘You kept them.’ Magnus will deny it later, but his voice breaks a little on the last word. He doesn’t even know why the emotion overwhelms him like this, but his heart beats so hard he feels like it might break from his chest any second. 

‘Of course I did.’ Alec scoots closer, sitting up to gently wrap his arm around Magnus’ shoulders and draw him in, pressing a kiss to the warlock’s temple. 

‘At times they were the only thing that kept me alive when… you got your magic back, and then they kept me going while I was trying to get you back from Edom. I know I fucked up Magnus, and I know we’ll need to have a really long, hard talk once everything settles down, but these… you on these pages were my lifeline, the one thing that kept me in this world and ready to fight. 

‘I want you to know that; I _need_ you to know that, because I feel like I never thanked you, and then I nearly never got the chance to thank you, and I love you. I love you more than anyone or anything, and I need you to know that. You are my world, and when I made a mistake and forced you away, these were… like palaces of hope and memory and love, because that’s what these letters are made from. 

‘I’m no good with words like that, we both know that, but honestly, I’m too tipsy and overwhelmed to care whether this is corny or too much. This is me, unfiltered, and you’re the one who made it possible with your love and your care and the words on these pages.’ 

And suddenly, with the heart-stopping implication presented so clearly, it all makes sense. The care that went into wrapping them, hiding them underneath the floorboards away from prying eyes, even keeping them in this particular box. 

If anything would have happened to Alexander while they were apart, be it self inflicted or not, Magnus’ magic would have probably pointed him towards this little treasure in his grief. At the same time, his Shadowhunter had made sure the intimate detail of their relationship remained reserved for the two of them alone. 

Magnus’ answering chuckle sounds a bit wet as he blinks against tears starting to gather. 

There’s no denying they’ll have to talk about, well, everything, and maybe, maybe this wedding was too soon and, for now, a mistake, but he can’t bring himself to even consider this for a second because, objectively, he’s rarely – if ever – felt this particular brand of happiness. 

He’s here, with Alexander as a steady, reliable presence at his side, and as if their spoken declaration of love wasn’t enough he holds physical proof of how important Magnus Bane the person – rather than Magnus Bane, former High Warlock of Brooklyn – has become to a single person. 

So important that Alexander, willing to sacrifice everything, fought tooth and nail for acceptance and their relationship to be respected. 

With a sigh, Magnus laces their fingers together. 

‘I love you, Alexander,’ he says, turning his head to look at his husband. 

‘But we’ve been through hell. Literally. What we need now, first and foremost, is time for just the two of us, without interruption or the world ending. 

‘I know we need to talk darling, and desperately so, but I only got you back around a day ago and I’m not ready to risk you. Call it selfish, but all I want to do, really, is to lie low and enjoy the fact that I married one of the best men I ever had the pleasure to meet.’ 

He doesn’t look away from Alexander when creating a portal, too afraid it’s all just a trick of his mind, Edom working its dark magic. 

Magnus knows it’ll take far too long to get rid of this particular fear, but at the same time he doesn’t intend to let his Shadowhunter husband out of his sight any more than strictly necessary for the time being. 

‘So, what do you say? You, me, a private island in the Caribbean, and not a worry in the world for a few days.’

The warlock hates the insecure edge to his voice, but then there are warm palms cupping his face and soft lips kissing his cheek to stop tears in their tracks. 

‘I’d love nothing more,’ Alexander whispers against his skin. Without breaking their contact he reassembles the box, cradling it against his chest once more. 

‘As long as you send these back to the loft.’ 

‘Nothing easier than that,’ Magnus replies, stealing a kiss while working his magic. He tucks the letters into a secret shelf in his apothecary, alongside his most treasured possessions – its only rightful place – and stands, extending a hand to pull Alec up too. 

Catching sight of the two of them in the mirror, Magnus can’t help but notice how good they look and how happy, despite everything that just transpired. He knows they’re both vulnerable and far more sensitive than they let on, but inside his mind there’s a steely determination to make things right. 

They both deserve this. 

‘Let’s go.’ Magnus adds a flourish to his movement as he makes towards the portal, swinging their joined hands enthusiastically. 

‘To echo those fateful words you said when your first postcard arrived, less talking, more kissing.’ 

‘I’d love nothing more, Mister Lightwood-Bane.’ 

Although they have played around with versions of their last names joined together, there was never a firm decision. But as he hears Alec speak this new name so confidently, and with such joy colouring his voice, Magnus feels something snap into place. A new bond, a new family, a new addition to his identity. 

As the portal swallows them, he can’t help but think that theres no single more fitting solution. 

Not to mention it’ll look good on all the postcards he’s bound to receive. 

Much like Alec, he doesn’t know yet that it’ll also be a last reminder of Clary, whose letter they find upon their return – the first one addressed to Mr & Mr Lightwood-Bane.

Without a second thought, it goes into the box, wrapped in its own layer of burnt orange paper, a stark reminder of what they lost even on their happiest day.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, this is unbeta'd - I hope you enjoyed it still. I'm forever on the hunt for mistakes, so if you find a glaring error I've overlooked, please let mw know. 
> 
> Also, full disclaimer, I'm entirely not sure about the ending; I felt like I wrote myself into a corner it was hard to get out of, but overall I'm... not 100% happy with it (who ever is?), but I think it fits in a way. 
> 
> Please also let me know what you thought or liked; comment are always MASSIVELY appreciated, but so are kudos and even 'just' your views. The fact that someone took their time to read my writing still feels very humbling, no matter how long I've been involved in fandom. <3


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